


G e l i d

by CastielTheAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Castiel, Cold, Cold Dean Winchester, Concerned Castiel, Dean Whump, Destiel - Freeform, Hypothermia, M/M, Mild OOC Dean, Out of Character Dean, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielTheAngel/pseuds/CastielTheAngel
Summary: Dean gets himself locked in a freezing vault for several hours while on a hunt. Castiel is there too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally had this fic since August 29th... I was gonna post it back in November, but then I decided to wait until it got colder... because IMMERSION, PHIL.
> 
> when you watch too much phan. my apologies.
> 
> Also, I probably screwed up some indentations. Oops.
> 
>  
> 
> ****3/25/17 update: changed the title because "Save You From The Cold" is incredibly cheesy... I also went back and changed some vocabulary and wording because more description and reasons and such. ^_^'**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ Beta read and edited by the lovely Fallingravity ]

 

     "Dammit!" Dean shouts when he hears the door close behind them- ' _them' being himself and his angelic companion, Castiel_. Dean turns tail and pounds his fists against the heavy metal in frustration. He definitely does _not_ grimace or wince in pain when the cool steel comes into contact with his bare hands.

     "Dean, stop. That will hurt you. Let me try." Castiel insists. Dean turns to look at the angel angrily, but the malevolence in his eyes simmers when he meets the steady, ever emotionless, yet somehow comforting gaze of his friend.

Reluctantly, the hunter steps away from the vault's door and allows Castiel to take a hit at the stubborn metal. He doesn't doubt the angel's strength one bit, but he seriously _does_ doubt that it's going to be that simple. His suspicions are confirmed when Castiel's hands deflect from the material, almost as if there's a trampoline-like barrier separating his touch from the door.

     "No," Dean hears the angel mutter. Dean has nothing more to say other than the stupid question of 'what?'– idiotic only because he definitely knows the answer to it.

"Angel warding sigils. These demons must have been prepared." Castiel seethes. The angel’s eyes transition from cloudy skies to stormy ones in hardly a second; the look overall is quite intimidating even though Dean knows it's not in any way directed towards him.

     "So you're powerless? Houdini’s lost his touch?" Dean breathes, disappointment practically dripping from his words. Castiel shoots a sharp glance at the young hunter, as if warning him that _if Dean dare bring up that 'baby in a trench coat' joke again, so help him, the angel would–_ However, Dean chases that thought right off. An angry ethereal being in an enclosed area with a mere human is not something he wants to think about. Even enervated ones, so Dean merely shrugs at Castiel and leans back against the metal wall behind him.

Not even ten minutes could have passed when Dean finally realized that they hadn't attempted to call Sam. Dean reaches to shove his hand into his pocket, but frowns when he finds it empty- no phone in his left one either. _Fuck me_ , he thinks, _it probably slipped out when we were running. Dammit!_

Castiel seems to sense Dean's frustration, because the irritable angel turns to face his human with concern alight in his eyes. He angles his head in that oh-so-familiar and very-much-Castiel _tilt_ of curiosity that Dean has come to recognize and ...even love.

     "I’ve lost my phone. We can't call Sam. Not unless you have yours on you,” Dean prompts, eyes brightening hopefully for a moment as he watches Castiel dig into the pockets of his trench coat and suit. Dean's clever and eager grin fades to a small frown when the angel comes up with nothing.

     "My apologies, Dean. It seems as though I, too, have misplaced my cellular device." The angel says regretfully. He almost seems guilty, but before Dean can reassure Cas that it's not in any way his fault, a loud, metallic crash sounds from above them. Dean's immediate instinct is to shrink back and he holds his hands over his head protectively.

     "What was that?" He asks, straightening up quickly when nothing collapses upon them. Castiel slowly mills about the circular vault, scanning the ceiling until he spots a small vent on the far side of the room. It blends in well with its deteriorating gray surroundings.

     "It sounded like something from inside the ventilation system." Castiel observes quietly. Another noise that’s not quite as loud follows the angel's assumption, and cold air begins to spill from the hole above them.

     "Oh, okay, nice to know that we're not going to get crushed by the ceiling. Yet." Dean says. He attempts at constructing the retort into a sarcastic joke, but it comes out as more of an irritatingly concerned remark. Castiel doesn't reply– merely stares at the vent as if he can see the physical air molecules pouring down from it. Honestly, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the angel _could_ see every miniscule atom surrounding them.

"Is that supposed to do something?" Dean asks, a sneer on his lips. "Because it's not doing anything at all. It's just producing cold air. _Brilliant idea, you black-eyed freaks_!" he shouts the last sentence of his accusation into the vent, quite obviously directed to the demons who'd captured them.

Castiel says nothing and leans against the wall opposite of Dean while the hunter makes a seat for himself atop the lone steel shelf in the room. He mutters something about how Sammy would be there soon to rescue them from the boredom of a ventilated metal storage unit.

 

 

     "It's getting pretty cold in here," Dean observes a while later. His tone is no longer laced in cockiness or contempt, but now a thin thread of what he'd almost call _worry_. Castiel looks up to the young hunter to find that he's hugging his jacketed arms protectively around his torso and pressing his legs together for warmth from his own body.

     "Would you like my coat?" Castiel asks kindly, stepping over to Dean and beginning to slip out of his trench coat. Dean shakes his head rather quickly in protest.

     "You need it too." He chatters. Castiel shakes his head and wraps the warm piece of clothing around Dean's hunched figure.

     "I am not affected by the cold. I’ll be fine." The angel assures. Dean reluctantly accepts the answer he receives and subconsciously tugs the long overcoat into his hands, curling its sleeves around his chest. It's warm and smells of Castiel; cologne from his vessel that seems to be as everlasting as its inhabitant himself, accompanied by an all around unique scent that most certainly does _not_ come from Jimmy alone. It's beautiful, to say the least. But Dean wouldn't be caught _dead_ saying that to the angel, or to anybody at all for that matter.

     "Dean, are you alright?" Castiel's concerned voice tugs Dean from his thoughts, compelling him to glance up at the angel with round green eyes with a simple  _hmm?_ , although he'd heard the question the first time.

"I asked you if you're alright. Are you?" Castiel repeats. His eyebrows are drawn together and his intimidating eyes are preying upon the hunter, filled with concern and angelic curiosity. Dean nods slowly, only then realizing that he's shivering.

     "Temperature really drops fast, huh?" He asks, trying to keep his tone light and solid with as few tremors as possible. He knows the angel can see straight through him, but Castiel doesn't say anything. He simply redirects his gaze to the hunter’s twitching hands; Dean’s fingers have been shifting against each other actively for the past few moments.

 

 

     " _You're cold_." Castiel snaps when Dean tries to refuse the suit jacket which the angel is offering him.

     "It's a normal reaction for a human body to shiver when it's freezing. You wouldn't understand." Dean bites back at Castiel's statement. The angel seems both un-phased and unimpressed with the hunter's diversion. It's a shitty comeback, to say the least, and it only provides further evidence to the angel's forceful reasoning. Dean straightens himself out of his defensive hunch and leans away from Castiel. The hunter eyes his friend warily.

Silently, Castiel runs his left hand across Dean's right shoulder and down the inside of the rapidly cooling trench coat; a warm contrast against Dean's trembling back and the touch sends a shiver down his spine. Not a shiver from the cold though.

With his right hand, Castiel pulls the suit coat up under the trench coat and tucks both around Dean's body. The temporary relief from the steadily decreasing room temperature gives Dean a moment to breathe in something other than the crisp air; the angel himself.

     "Better?" Castiel asks pointedly. Dean just nods a little nod and awkwardly avoids eye contact with the angel. He doesn't notice the small smirk of approval perched upon Castiel's lips when he finally accepts the warmth, and Castiel completely intends to keep it that way.

 

     Dean can feel his head lolling every now and then. He's tired and numb, and he can hardly move his legs at all, let alone wiggle his toes inside his boots. His entire body is resting at a constant shiver of discontent, longing– no, _begging_ for heat of some kind, _any_ kind. There's frost in his hair, he knows it. He can feel it accumulating atop his mess of dirty-blond tufts.

     "Cas," He breathes quietly. The angel, who'd resumed his position by the wall across from him, lifts his head instantly and rushes to catch Dean when the younger allows all of his functioning muscles to convert into gelatin. The angel sets him on the floor gently, and though it's significantly more freezing down there, neither of them care– Dean being too far gone, and Castiel becoming incredibly worried about his human.

     "Dean, _hey!_ " Castiel barks, shaking the hunter's limp, unmoving body. Dean doesn't say or do anything, just stares through half-lidded eyes and whines in protest when Castiel attempts to jerk him back to life.

 

 

     "Dean, you _need_ to stay awake." Castiel demands. He pulls Dean closer to him and the hunter's head lolls against the angel's chest lazily.

     "Can't, ugnh..." Dean slurs. His eyes are dull and his lips are turning a frosty shade of pink. A light coat of ice graces his skin and weighs down his eyelashes. Castiel knows that he probably appears the same way, but he could honestly care less right now.

The light flickers.

Castiel wills it to stay on for just a little longer, but his blind pleas are in vain. The light so selfishly withers out.

     "No.." he growls in frustration. The absence of even a cold, lifeless light such as that would bring with it a higher possibility of his human's body temperature dropping into hypothermic degrees. Dean looks up at him, bluing lips parted and moving slightly as if he's trying to say something. When nothing comes out, he swallows thickly, shutting his mouth again and diverting his gaze to something behind Castiel's head. The hunter does look beautiful this way, Castiel must note, with icy dew dusting his soft cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Complemented with the light spattering of freckles beneath the frost, the young man's face appears far more innocent than his personality portrays. 

     "I'm going to pick you up." Castiel mutters abruptly, tearing his observant eyes from Dean's face. He's not asking for Dean's consent, he's telling the hunter what's going to happen. He knows that Dean would object to this under significantly more _normal_ circumstances, but right now the hunter just needs to be warm.

Castiel scoops the human into his arms with ease and stumbles his way over to the shelf Dean had previously been perched on. The hunter mumbles tiny protests, now slightly more conscious than before, as Castiel seats himself on the sturdy metal shelf. He momentarily debates on whether he should set Dean on the material beside him, or keep the hunter on his lap. Cas opts for the latter of course, since cold from the shelf would surely bleed through Dean's pants and freeze his thighs.

     "Can't..." Dean wheezes as Castiel repositions him on his lap. "...cold,"

He sounds pitiful, and Castiel wills Sam to find them as soon as possible because they've been in there for nearly an hour and a half, and Dean is– as expected– only getting worse.

     "I know. Rub your hands together." Castiel instructs quietly. Dean's shaky hands clasp together close to his belly, but he doesn't attempt to move them any further. Though slightly frustrating, it's good enough for Castiel.

"Stay awake for me, okay? You can do that," He insists, positioning the young man's hanging head against his shoulder. Dean hums a wrecked noise in response; Castiel is startled to only _just now_ realize that the temperature has dropped so low that they can see their own breath with each exhale, and he wonders how he hadn’t noticed that before. Wonders how long it had been since the oxygen had gotten that frigid. The air is a crisp cold that must hurt to take in. His discovery prompts him to reposition Dean so that the hunter's face is buried safely into Castiel's dress shirt and bicep so he can inhale warmer air.

 

     Dean's constant shivering has numbed to a dull tremor every once in awhile, and as of current the hunter is unresponsive to any sound or movement Castiel makes.

     "Dean. I said you need to stay _awake_." The angel persuades when Dean closes his eyes. Dean's not having it though. He allows himself to slip away into a world where everything is warm and fuzzy.

Does he know that he's ignoring the angel? Yeah, but does he care anymore?

... _Nope_.

 

 

     Dean is dragged back into reality a few moments later when Castiel resorts to his drastic, most likely last– no matter how _odd_ – option... Which is why Dean finds himself lip-locked with the angel.

The hunter whines to voice his stubborn protests into Castiel's mouth, though doesn't bother to open his eyes and express his utter disapproval. He doesn't shy away when Castiel grips him tighter though. He finds that the warm air stored within the angel's body is welcomingly comforting to inhale. ...Which really should be at least _slightly_ disturbing to Dean, but somehow it isn't at all.

Castiel pulls himself away and Dean's tongue darts past his own lips to trace over them in attempt to return some moisture to them. Castiel hastily pulls the sleeve of his dress shirt up and sweeps across the hunter's now dry lips with it.

     "The moisture will only prompt them to freeze together at this temperature." He informs when Dean opens his eyes in an inquiring glare of frustration.

Okay, yeah, Dean can see the logic behind that, but because he's so _out of it_ right now that he doesn't actually give a single fuck, he does it again. It may or may not have been just to piss the angel off, which he– in his right mind– would never, _ever_ do. He knows better than to mess with creatures  _that powerful_. ...Sort of.

     "Dean. Stop." Castiel seethes through gritted teeth. When he repeats his previous actions, Dean can practically see the irritation rolling off of him in dark red-orange pulses of heat.

"You're very pale." Castiel observes quietly after a moment. His voice has softened significantly in a matter of mere seconds, and Dean admires the angel's ability to switch on and off the tones he's adapted.

     "Thanks for noticing." Dean retorts dryly. He fails to hide the stutter in his voice, but it's not as if he can help it. His lips- and even his tongue now- are so frozen that he can barely form words at all anymore.

Castiel shifts Dean’s position on his lap. Cas looks slightly uncomfortable, and Dean can't blame him. However strong the angel may be, the sigils outside the room have rendered him practically impuissant for the time being and it can't be easy for the angel to have a man as heavy as Dean nesting on top of him– even if Dean's not actually that much larger.

     "Do you want me to move?" Dean asks. Or, _tries_ to ask, rather. It sounds more like a slurred _Dya'wan'm'move?_ The angel deciphers it well enough and he adamantly shakes his head.

     "No, I'm going to sit us down on the floor again. _Stay_." The angel commands when Dean makes a clumsy move to get up, arms flailing a bit. Castiel tightens his grip on Dean's torso and slides his other arm under the human's knees. Slowly, he stands up and Dean's limbs immediately tense. He trusts Castiel not to drop him, but that doesn't mean he likes the feeling of being carried.

     " _Dundropme_." he groans. Castiel shakes his head as if to say, _no, I'm not going to drop you,_ and steps over to lean against the wall for some support so he doesn't crash when he sits. As soon as they're on the ground, Castiel crosses his legs and positions Dean so the younger's head is on the angel's shoulder and the rest of the left side of his body is pressed against Castiel's torso.

     "There, that's better." Castiel says.

     "Cold?" Dean asks, and Castiel shakes his head.

     "Temperature doesn't have any affect on me. I can feel the difference between warm and cool, but it has no overall impact." The angel elaborates.

Dean mutters something that sounds like 'must be nice', but not even he himself knows thanks to his state of incoherence.

 

 

     Castiel notices that Dean's body has begun to react a little more because of the movement; it must've warmed him up even just slightly, because now he's shivering again. That's a good thing.

     "Why're y'shaking?" Dean mumbles. The angel says nothing for a moment and Dean looks up to coax an answer from him.

     "It's my vessel's reaction to the cold. I cannot prevent it." Castiel replies matter-of-factly. He appears to be choosing his words very carefully.

     "It's not..." Dean starts to say. He trails off slowly because he doesn't actually know exactly what he wanted to say in the first place. "harmful?" he rushes before words escape the angel's parting lips.

     "No." Castiel answers. He sounds slightly unsure and Dean wants to question him further, but he doesn't act upon his own wishes.

"If anything, it is more of a detriment to you."

Dean raises his eyebrows even though he knows Castiel can't see him.

"If my vessel is frozen, then you in turn will freeze." The angel says. Dean doesn't respond, though he does provide a small, quiet nod against Castiel's chest.

     “What’re y’doing?” The hunter asks after a long moment. Castiel’s squirming below him and the small, jerky movements are irritating to Dean’s pounding head. Each jolt sends a spike of pain straight through the middle of his brain like a gunshot.

“ _Stop_ it, Cas.” He complains. He smacks an aimless hand against the angel’s chest. Like that was going to do anything, he realizes, but it was worth a try.

     “I am trying to keep up the circulation of blood in my vessel’s body.” Castiel explains softly. Dean notices the slight vibration in the chest beneath his head as the angel speaks.

     “What? _English_?” Dean prompts. His limited coherence doesn’t allow him to perfectly understand the angel’s words.

     “This will help you get warmer.” Castiel simplifies. Dean hums a little noise of acknowledgement. He hopes Castiel doesn’t notice the slight tremor in his voice, but that thought is a little too far-fetched. The angel had once sat him down for a mere five minutes of conversation about the freakin’ _weather_ , only to end the discussion with a disturbingly casual, _“Oh, by the way, you have exactly one hundred and three freckles. Including the minuscule ones. Just on your face.”_   Yeah, make that a _lot_ -too far-fetched. Castiel knows practically  _everything_ about him. If requested, he'd ace a pop quiz.

     “Dean, you must stay awake.” Castiel pleads. It’s oddly satisfying to see- or rather, hear- the angel resort to _begging_ just because his human is being a bit stubborn. Dean’s lips part in a watery, jaw-locking exhale of sleep deprivation and it feels great to expel the chilly air from his lungs, even if it does only last a few seconds. The tears in his eyes from the yawn create little salty beads of water as they caress his paling skin and freeze over before they pass his cheekbones. Castiel is supplied with no other option than to awaken the dozing young man with a _thwack_ to the head.

Dean grunts his irritation and glares up at Castiel through ice-dusted lashes. There’s frost in the angel’s hair, he notices. He’s far too numb to tell if it’s still in his as well, but he can infer that there’s something there because Castiel consistently ruffles the dirty-blond locks.

     “What’re…” Dean attempts to ask, but even his tongue is frozen now, creating an issue as far as speaking goes. He’s slightly alarmed; Castiel is shivering in a constant cycle now, and Dean can see a dull blue glow when he cracks one eye open ever so slightly.

     “I’m keeping you warm.” The angel replies shakily. Dean tries to straighten up, but Castiel’s arms are buckling him down securely.

     “You’re cold?” The younger inquires. Castiel shakes his head.

     “I’m not cold. The temperature is affecting my vessel. The longer we stay in here, the more temporarily ineffective my grace becomes.” The angel elaborates. Dean can hear the tremor in Cas’s chattering teeth.

     “...Blue?” Dean prompts as he tucks his fidgety hands between their touching torsos for heat.

     “My grace. I’m using it to keep you as warm as possible.” Castiel replies tensely. Dean’s not a complete idiot, even in this state; he can piece two and two together.

     “The longer y’keep it up, th’more y’lose.” He observes aloud, words messy and hardly cogent. He vaguely catches the small nodding movement that the angel provides.

“Then stop,” Dean insists quietly as his completely numb fingers tangle with Castiel’s top. He doesn't want the angel to waste his power on keeping them heated. Castiel’s arm twitches against Dean’s back, as if he's about to do something, but he doesn’t withdraw his grace. If anything, it seems to strengthen against Dean’s wishes. Dean He can feel his legs tingling now, which is probably a good thing. The heat from Castiel's grace must be working.

     “Castiel, stop it.” Dean growls when his tongue finally relearns its purpose. He paws against Castiel’s chest and pushes himself into an upright position with his knees on either side of the angel’s legs. He ends up regretting it a mere couple of seconds later; frosty air bites at the side of his torso that had been protected by the warm vessel and Dean shudders more obviously than he'd care to admit.

     “You _will_ freeze.” Castiel says. His tone matches Dean’s; sharp and irritated, yet somehow alarmed.

“This isn't just a _want to_ anymore, it is a _must_. I will not let you die because you’re a stubborn ass who can't- or rather _won’t_ \- accept assistance. I’m smarter than that, and so are you.”

Dean doesn't reply. Castiel stares up at him with a gaze that could melt frozen steel. ...If only he weren't debilitated.

“Dean.” Castiel persists. He pulls at Dean’s arms and the far-younger man begrudgingly complies, returning his head to Castiel’s burning chest. Castiel takes the frozen hands of his human into his own and presses both sets of fingers up under his shirt.

     “What-?” Dean’s fingers jump against the hot, smooth skin beneath them. Castiel twitches against the touch and his upper abdomen tenses just slightly, but he makes no move to separate them.

     “ _I will not let you freeze._ ” Castiel deadpans with a tone as empty and stoic as the air around them, though his words are anything _but_.

He keeps his word, and Dean’s eyes fall closed after a yawn that sends a rapidly crystallizing tear trickling down each frozen cheek. He’s out; there’s no response from the hypothermic dead weight of his body. Not when Castiel pleads, not when he presses his mouth to Dean’s parted lips and breathes hot air into his lungs. Not even when the angel begins to pluck his own insulated feathers for the hunter’s warmth.

 

 

     When Dean awakens, he's no longer in a freezing vault. His head is on a pillow and there are layers of soft blankets draped over him. When he moves experimentally, he takes note that there's something– or rather, some _one_ – sitting on the mattress behind him. He opens his eyes and scrambles to sit up, but there's a hand on his rib cage nearly immediately and it refuses to allow him to perform the task.

     “You need to stay still. If you move, it will hurt. You must wait for your limbs to regain feeling.”

It's Castiel. A chill rushes up Dean’s spine as he regards his own frozen fingers and shoeless toes.

     “Do I have–?” He begins, voice low and dull from lack of use.

     “Your fingertips are still discolored, much like a bruise, but I must wait until you regain complete circulation before I'll be able to tell for sure whether you have frostbite or not.” Castiel interrupts and Dean nods thrice in acknowledgement. He pauses awkwardly before his next question, reluctant to mention it, but once again the angel speaks before he can.

     “I was making sure your insides wouldn't freeze as well. The air we were breathing was icy and unhealthy to inhale.” Dean stills. He's pretty sure that Castiel is reading his thoughts; he can tell by the way the angel shifts uncomfortably behind him.

     “So…” Dean prepares for an interjection from Castiel, but he doesn't receive one. “That was all?”

Castiel doesn't respond, which leads to Dean believing that he must shed some light upon his vague inquiry. He rolls onto his back slowly so he can see Castiel. The angel’s lean side welcomes him as Castiel stares out the window.

    “You didn't… feel… anything?” Dean asks. He feels extremely awkward, as he doesn't normally– nor does he _like_ to– talk about feelings. Especially his own.

Castiel’s head slowly turns, and the way he stares at Dean with his ever-void gaze of ice is almost _creepy_. His eyes seem to bore right into the human’s soul and devour his deepest thoughts.

    “I felt everything.” Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and in that moment, he swears his heart stops. When Castiel leans forward to press his lips to his hunter’s, it's not because they're in a life-threatening situation.

Now it's real.


End file.
